


captivity

by killerqueenwrites



Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Again, Dehumanization, Experimentation, Gen, Harley Has A Suit, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Tony Stark, Whump, in which tony has adopted peter and harley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: To say Tony is hysterical would be an understatement.It’s been twelve hours without so much as a peep from either of his sons: no texts, no calls, no readings from either of their suits, either of their watches.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016994
Comments: 6
Kudos: 250





	captivity

**Author's Note:**

> if you're subscribed to me, sorry for the spam you're getting. i'm reuploading my irondad bingo one-shots as individual stories to make it easier for people to find them and so they can be stories in their own right. [ they were originally posted here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/45168637)

The _hiss-thwip_ , followed by the light thud of someone landing behind him, is familiar enough that Harley doesn’t turn.

“You’re an idiot,” Peter tells him.

“Thank you.” Harley doesn’t take his eyes off the lights in front of him: a base of some kind, the first one he’d found on his rage-fuelled dive into FRIDAY’s classified files.

“Seriously, Harley! How’d you even find this place?”

“I hacked FRIDAY. How’d _you_ find it?”

“I got Karen to follow you because I had a bad feeling you were gonna do something stupid, like steal a suit and pick a fight with a bad guy.”

“I didn’t _steal_ it. It’s mine.”

Peter scoffs, lifts his mask up. “For emergencies only.”

Harley glares at him. “You’re starting to sound just like Tony. It’s sickening.”

To his credit, Peter doesn’t wither under the full force of a Keener scowl, but glares right back. “Yeah, maybe I would’ve been doing this once – I kinda did, a couple times.”

“What’s ‘this’?”

“Racing to join the fight after Tony benched me.”

“This isn’t benching, though!” Harley hisses. “I’m not even picked for the team. But you are! Yeah, sure, no problem. _Peter_ gets to be an Avenger.”

“I’m a sub, at best.” The corner of Peter’s mouth quirks. “Come on, come home. Give it a few months. Tony’s only so overprotective lately because, well…”

“Because you nearly died,” Harley says bluntly. “That’s exactly it! I wanted to be out there, helping to look for you, and he stuck me at home with Morgan.”

“So you’re saying we should have left her alone? With those guys possibly still on the loose?”

“No! But–“

“It…wasn’t great,” Peter says, stilted. Harley knows; he saw Peter’s face when they brought him home, saw the way Tony had been constantly teetering on the edge of a panic attack until he woke up. “I don’t blame him for not wanting you there. It was a mess. I wouldn’t have wanted you there.”

“But…” Peter still doesn’t _get_ it. “I felt useless, okay? So fucking useless. I just need to prove to Tony that I can do this.”

“Been there, dude. Got my ass handed to me. I promise he knows; he just…doesn’t wanna lose us again.”

Harley hears that, and, even worse, he understands it. But understanding means that Tony was in the right in their little shouting match earlier, even if he was being an asshole, and if there’s one thing Harley Keener hates, it’s being wrong.

So he engages his thrusters without warning and swoops closer to the base, flying a little shakily but good enough to get where he wants to go.

He lands, and Peter lands beside him, his mask pulled back down.

“Once again, you’re an idiot, Keener.” Peter looks at him. “Look, just come back, he’ll apologise. Don’t wait until something awful happens to one of you. I learned that the hard way.”

Harley says nothing.

“You didn’t see him, okay? When everyone came back, and then when he found me in the middle of the battlefield. He looked…I don’t know, but losing us hurt him, man.”

“No, I didn’t see him when everyone first came back. The first thing I saw was a cow, because I wasn’t in that battle, because _I’m not an Avenger_.”

Peter sighs, heavy, long-suffering.

“Yep, we’re still on that.”

“Oh, no, really? ‘Cause I honestly thought you’d found something else to rant about in the last thirty seconds.”

“I’m going in there,” Harley says. “So you can either come with, or go running back to _Dad_ and tell him Harley’s being naughty.”

“Nuh-uh. Rule three of siblinghood–”

“That’s not a word.”

“Yes it is, shut up. Rule three: Harley’s an idiot, but don’t let him be an idiot alone.”

“You just made that up,” Harley says, but inside he’s bubbling over with relief.

“Nope. Rule one is don’t feed the gremlin juice pops after midnight. Rule two is the Switch is a family console. Rule four is everyone has to do what Peter says–“

“I’m older than you.”

“Four days means nothing. Nothing.”

“Time is meaningless.”

“So therefore you can’t be older than me.”

“Dude, shut the fuck up.”

Peter shakes his head, but Harley can tell he’s grinning as they step towards the building. “We’re brothers, man. That means your idiocy is my idiocy.” He pauses. “Whoa, for once I’m Rhodey instead of Tony.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Excuse you, I am a changed man. You’re the problem child now–“

_“Intruder alert.”_

Harley freezes.

_“Intruder alert,”_ the automated voice repeats. _“Activating EMP.”_

Harley’s brain shuts down. He’s never been in a situation like this; even when he had a pyromaniac freak threatening to blow him up, he hadn’t been this terrified. He’d had Tony.

“Go!” Right. He doesn’t have Tony, but he has Peter. “Harley, run! Get out of range before–“

His HUD flickers and goes dark. His repulsors stop responding. He’s in a dead suit, barely a hundred yards away from an enemy base, with no way of ever calling anyone for help.

“Shit,” Peter breathes next to him, “shit.”

“Peter, leave. Now.” Peter’s webshooters work on a trigger mechanism; he can still get away.

“Not a chance–“

“Go!”

“They’re here!”

“Over here!”

Blinding flashes of light. Shouts. Footsteps. Laughter.

Harley’s suit is a useless lump of metal, a cage, a prison. He’s not getting out of this. God, he’s so _stupid_.

“You seeing this?”

“Some shitty knockoff of Iron Man? Yeah.”

They’re surrounded. No way out. Peter tenses, bending his knees like he’s going to fight. Harley can throw a punch, sure, but against these guys, armed and well-disciplined, he won’t stand a chance.

“Spider-Man, huh?” There’s a laugh in the man’s voice. “Interesting.”

Peter lunges, but the guards move faster. One jabs something into the back of his shoulder and laughs when he screams, before another whacks his face with the butt of a gun. Peter crashes to the ground with a groan.

“All right, Iron Man Junior,” the same man says, all the amusement gone from his voice. “Get out of the suit, or we’ll shoot the bug in the head. You might be bulletproof, but his pyjamas aren’t.”

_No_. Harley closes his eyes, reaches for the release mechanism on his chest.

“Don’t,” Peter wheezes, and gets a solid boot in the ribs.

“Sorry,” Harley mutters. He pushes the catch.

There’s a moment of ear-splitting silence when he steps out of the suit; he recoils at the sheer amount of guns pointed at his head, at Peter’s. He’s never been in a situation like this, never felt so useless, so unprepared.

“That’s one of Stark’s kids,” someone says, and then they’re grabbing Peter’s mask, yanking it off his head. “Huh. Two for two.”

“Stark’s kids or not, they’re here and they shouldn’t be. Get them inside, and tell the doctor we have a new enhanced for him.”

Peter shifts on the ground.

Something jabs into the back of Harley’s neck, sending jolts of electricity down his spine, and then everything goes black.

* * *

To say Tony is hysterical would be an understatement.

It’s been twelve hours without so much as a peep from either of his sons: no texts, no calls, no readings from either of their suits, either of their watches.

He’d expect this if Harley was by himself; the kid can hold grudges for an impressively long time. Sure, Tony might be more than a little worried by now, but not like this. He’d let Harley have some space, because their argument had been something entirely different to Tony’s explosive clash with Peter a few months ago. Harley’s anger is a slower burn; where Peter is a bright flash, he’s an ember, but it’s no less dangerous once he reaches his limit.

Except Harley isn’t alone. Peter had sighed, pulled his mask back down and followed him without hesitation. Peter would at least have sent a text by now; he knows better than to disappear, to take his suit and watch offline. This has gone far beyond Harley stewing, far beyond teenage tantrums and trying to make him worry. Something is wrong.

Tony grips his phone, watching the screen without blinking, as if that’s going to make notifications appear any faster.

“FRIDAY, anything?”

_“Nothing, Boss.”_

“Jesus Christ.” Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “Morgan – is Morgan okay?”

_“She is asleep in her room, Boss. Everything is fine.”_

“Good. Good. Call Rhodey. Get him here ASAP. Don’t tell Pepper until the morning.”

_“It is now almost five AM, Boss. She will be waking up soon.”_

Right. Twelve hours. Jesus.

_“Colonel Rhodes is on his way,”_

Tony wishes that would lessen the tightness in his chest, but his boys are still missing and it feels like those five years all over again. They’re gone, they’re _gone_ and he can’t _breathe_.

* * *

It’s cold when Harley wakes up, a hard surface beneath him. Something smells damp, and when he peels open his eyes it’s dark.

He tries to sit up, but his hands are held together in front of him.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh _shit_.

“Harley?”

Harley turns, his stomach dropping. Peter is only a few feet away, but they’re separated by thick vertical bars. Where Harley’s hands are just cuffed in front of him, Peter’s are held behind his back, and there’s a thick chain locking both of his ankles to the floor.

“Dude, what the hell?” Harley crawls over, leaning against the bars. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I, uh…tried to climb up the wall, to get to the window or something.” Peter shuffles closer, too, a grim smile on his face. “They weren’t huge fans of that.”

Stupid, stupid. This is all Harley’s fault.

“You can’t break out?”

Peter shakes his head. His lip is split, although it’s stopped bleeding, and there’s the shadow of a bruise on his cheek. They’ve taken his suit and left him in sweatpants and a T-shirt that definitely aren’t his.

“I’m sorry,” Harley mumbles, closing his eyes. “This is all my fault.”

“It’s okay,” Peter replies, just as quietly. “I wasn’t gonna leave you.”

“You should’ve.”

Peter shuffles the rest of the way over and settles against the bars with a grunt. “Brothers, remember?”

“God, you’re so dumb,” Harley whispers, but he joins Peter, resting against the metal bars, as close to touching as they can get.

“My turn on the stupidity,” Peter says with a tight grin.

“You’re implying I have the brain cell, which is so far off base I don’t even know where to start.”

Peter snorts, but instantly tenses, his head snapping up.

“What–?”

“Someone’s coming. Two – no, three? Three people.”

Peter’s cell door swings open, and he sits up straighter, gritting his teeth.

“That’s the enhanced?”

“Yes, Doctor Allen.”

“Hm. Doesn’t look much.” The footsteps move forward until Harley can see a man in a lab coat, flanked by two guards. “And it’s Spider-Man?”

_It_. Like Peter isn’t a person, isn’t human.

“Yes, Doctor. Makes sense, him being Stark’s.”

“I suppose it does.” The doctor turns his gaze on Harley, who scowls back. “And what is Harley Keener doing here? He’s human, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he knows where we are. Kid’s gotta stay here so he doesn’t go blabbing to Iron Man.”

“Mm,” the doctor says, and then he’s turning back to Peter. “Subject Seven–“

“His name is Peter,” Harley snaps.

“Pardon me?”

“His name is Peter. You know my name, so you know his.”

The doctor clears his throat and continues talking. “Subject Seven, I would advise behaving if you want to keep this pathetic Iron Man tribute act alive.”

_Ouch_.

“I’ll cooperate,” Peter says quietly.

“Did I say you could speak?”

“I–“

“No talking. No eye contact. Do not speak unless spoken to.”

“Surely that’s the same thing as ‘no talking’–“

The guard lunges forward and smacks Peter across the face.

“Hey!” Harley yells.

“Okay,” Peter mutters, “so you’re the mean one.”

Another slap, this one seeming more demeaning than painful. Peter glares, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Good little insect,” the doctor says. “See? All animals can be trained.”

Harley’s going to throw up. “You’re fucking crazy, dude.”

Peter shoots him a warning look.

“Seriously! What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? You think you can just–?“

This time, when the guard reaches for Peter, there’s something in his hand. Peter hits the ground with a choked-off scream, and Harley suddenly remembers the taser that hit him before he passed out.

“Stop it! Stop!”

The guard steps back. Peter gasps and goes limp.

Like nothing had happened, the doctor smiles down at Harley. “Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr Keener.”

* * *

It’s quiet after the men leave. Peter picks himself up and shuffles back over to Harley.

“Sorry,” Harley whispers again, because what else can he do?

“‘S’okay.”

“It’s not, Peter. It’s so fucking far from okay.”

“Harley, just…” Peter sighs. “You just need to worry about yourself now.”

“And you, dumbass.”

“No,” Peter says firmly. “They’re gonna do whatever they want to me anyway. If you keep out of their way, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Peter–“

Footsteps sound down the corridor, and Harley realises what Peter was saying.

“Please?”

This time, though, it’s Harley’s cell door that opens; a guard steps through with a tray, and Harley’s stomach growls.

“Just for you,” the man says gruffly, “not the freak.”

“But–“

“Harley, it’s fine.”

“No,” Harley says, “if he doesn’t get food, I don’t want food.”

The guard shrugs and swings the door shut again. “Don’t eat it, then. I don’t give a shit.”

“Stop being stupid,” Peter says when he’s gone.

“You need to eat more than me.”

Peter doesn’t say anything else, just rests his head against the bars. Harley closes his eyes and lets himself drift off.

When he wakes up, the cell beside him is empty.

* * *

“Useless,” is the first thing Harley hears, and then Peter’s being tossed back into his cell, where he crumples to the floor and doesn’t move. “Didn’t even get fifteen minutes out of it. Just fell off the treadmill.”

“You’re not feeding him enough,” Harley calls, glaring at his own half-empty tray. He’d caved, feeling more able to eat without Peter there, without the reminder that he got more food than his brother.

The footsteps pause, then move towards his cell.

“I’m sorry, Mr Keener?”

“He’s not eating enough,” Harley says, scowling as the doctor comes into his line of sight. They’d missed dinner last night, which means it’s now been more than twenty-four hours since Peter last ate.

“Interesting,” the doctor says after a pause. “Are you saying Subject Seven has an enhanced metabolism?”

_Shit_.

“Well?”

“Yes! Yes, he does.”

“And does this affect such things as its physical performance and healing factor?”

“Yes,” Harley mutters, feeling like he’s betraying Peter.

Another pause, then, “That’s very helpful, Mr Keener, thank you.”

* * *

Peter’s cold all the time. Harley vaguely recalls random odds and ends he’s picked up, little snippets of information about what Peter can do, what the spider bite did to him.

Thermoregulation. He can’t keep himself warm, and the lack of food isn’t helping.

“It’s okay,” Harley whispers as they shiver their way through yet another night – night three? Four? He’s too fucking cold to think. “Tony’s gonna find us.”

“W-w-w–“ Peter’s teeth are chattering so hard he can barely string a sentence together. “What if he c-can’t?”

“Please,” Harley scoffs. “Dude cracked open the universe to get us back. Tony Stark doesn’t know the word ‘can’t’.”

“But what if–?”

“Then Pepper will. And if she can’t, Rhodey will. Come on, we’ve bonded with Morgan – we’re an integral part of the family unit.”

Peter finally laughs, a sound Harley’s sorely missed. Their shoulders are touching through the bars, a reminder that neither of them are alone.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” he promises, and waits until Peter’s eyes slip closed. He could be sleeping, could have just passed out. Harley doesn’t know which one is better anymore.

* * *

“Still nothing?” Pepper asks, stroking her hand over Tony’s shoulder.

“No,” Tony says quietly. His eyes are dry from staring at screens for five days straight, for all the good that’s done.

“Just take a break, honey, even for a couple of hours.”

“I can’t,” Tony says. “I – the last time I saw Harley, I was shouting – if something happens like last time, Pep, I _can’t_ –“

Pepper’s face tightens, and Tony knows she doesn’t need a reminder; she was there before him, she found Peter beaten half to death and held at gunpoint. Instead, she sighs. “Morgan’s asking about them again. If this goes on for much longer…”

Five days. Five damn days.

“I’ll think of something. She believed they were just on an adventure for the first few years of her life, right?”

“She’s not three any more, Tony.”

No. She’s not. None of this should be happening. They’re supposed to be in the _after_ now, their family together again, or as much as it can be.

“Just…don’t scare her.”

Pepper nods, her hand moving to his hair. “Leave the search running, and come out of here. Just eat a sandwich. FRIDAY will tell you the instant she gets a reading from either of their suits, the second anything pops up, okay? You need to keep your strength up – you never know when you might have to leave. Could be at a moment’s notice, and you _know_ being in a suit again is going to take it out of you.”

“Okay,” Tony sighs. She’s right, of course.

“You’ll find them, Tony.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I have to.”

* * *

They come every day, at least once, sometimes as many as four times, and drag Peter away somewhere. Harley hates that he doesn’t fight them, hates that every time they throw him back in he looks a little smaller, a little more defeated. He can’t see that they’re feeding Peter, either; instead, the doctor’s gaze seems to have become even more intrigued since Harley let slip about his metabolism.

It’s been eight days. More than a week. Nineteen trips to whatever laboratory they have in here for Peter. Eight days of sitting in a cold, damp cell for Harley. Probably eight days of freaking out for Tony and the rest of their family. If Tony hasn’t found them yet…

This is Harley’s fuck-up, and now he needs to fix it.

This time when Peter hits the floor, he lies limp. Harley can’t even see if his chest is moving.

“Peter,” he calls, waiting for Peter to slowly climb to his knees and shuffle over to the bars, the way he always has before.

He doesn’t move.

“Peter?”

Peter just whimpers, drawing his knees up to his chest as best as he can with his hands still cuffed behind him.

No, they can’t wait for Tony any longer. Harley has to get them both out of here.

He watches Peter, never taking his eyes off him, just in case he stops breathing. A few hours later, they come and take him again.

* * *

They only send one guard in when Harley’s alone, like taking Peter away makes him somehow less dangerous. (There’s some logic to that; it’s like he’s missing a limb, half of his brain, like his entire centre is off and his balance is skewed.)

So he waits, waits until the man has stepped through the door and is setting the tray down, and lunges. His cuffed hands swing up, smashing into the guard’s face.

The guard goes down. Harley stands over him for a moment, breathing hard, and then he runs.

He’s tense, ready to be spotted and stopped at any moment; he curses himself for not taking any weapons from the unconscious guard, but if this goes right, he’ll soon have all the weapons he needs.

An open door comes into view and Harley spares a second to check it’s clear before ducking inside. There, right in front of him, is his armour.

“Thank God,” he breathes, hurrying over to it. As _if_ his suit is in the first room he tried. “Hi, darling. How’re you?”

The suit whirrs to life, its eyes lighting up. _“Hello, Harley. I am functional.”_

“Functional will have to do. How functional are we talking?”

_“Flight, navigation and weapons are all partly functioning. I am afraid communications, scanners and shielding are all down.”_

So there’s no way to find Peter, not without checking every room, and there’s no way Harley’s going to get this lucky again, no way he can fight his way through with half-working weapons systems. This place is huge, from what he saw of the outside. No, he needs help – he needs Tony.

“Can you get me home?” he says, hating himself. Peter’s in here somewhere, being tested on and treated like nothing more than an animal, and Harley’s running back to Tony.

_“I can.”_

“Then get me out of these.” He holds his wrists up, still cuffed. “And plot a course back to Manhattan.”

_“Flight time approximately fifty-two minutes.”_

An hour there, an hour back. Two hours at least before he can get back here with backup. How long until they notice he’s gone? What if they take it out on Peter?

“Make it forty-five.”

* * *

It’s been nine days. More than a week. Tony hasn’t been able to breathe properly for more than a week.

It’s Rhodey’s shift, supervising him, babysitting, whatever – he, Pepper and Happy clearly have an agreement to make sure someone’s always watching Morgan and someone else is making sure he doesn’t completely lose it.

Nine fucking days.

“Hang on,” Rhodey says suddenly, his gaze fixed on a screen. “I got a, uh…Tones, I got a suit. Heading this way. Trajectory’s a bit off, like it’s damaged or something.”

“Can you get an identification number, or…?”

Rhodey looks up, his lips pressed together. “It’s Harley’s.”

Someone has his kids, and now they’ve figured out a way to use his suits, despite all the failsafes and protocols that are supposed to prevent exactly that. He doesn’t even want to consider how these people got hold of the override codes needed to fly the thing.

Something hot and dangerous stirs in his chest. “Pep and Morgan?”

“Still out with Happy.”

“Good. Suit up.”

It takes both of them less than a minute; not for the first time, Tony’s paranoia serves them well.

If only he could have seen this coming, protected his kids a little better.

“Easy, Tony,” Rhodey says. _Breathe_ , is the unspoken reminder.

Tony tries.

FRIDAY opens the window just in time for the suit to tumble through.

“FRI, what the hell–?”

The suit opens and Harley stumbles out.

“Harley!” Tony all but falls out of his own suit and leaps across the room. “Jesus – kid–“ He grabs Harley’s face and turns his head from side to side, checking for injuries, before crushing him against his chest.

It takes him a long time to realise Harley is crying.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs into Tony’s shoulder, “I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t mean – Tony–“

It’s so painfully reminiscent of Peter a few months ago, apologising until he runs out of breath for something Tony had long since forgiven.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m not mad.” Tony shushes Harley as he hiccups and tries to catch his breath. “You have to tell me what happened, kid.”

“No time – we have to – I left Peter, Tony–“

“Peter?” Tony catches Rhodey’s gaze over the top of Harley’s head. “Okay, okay, start from the beginning.”

“There’s isn’t time!” Harley yells. “They’re _hurting_ him!”

_Oh_. Oh shit oh shit. “Fri. Call Happy. Get him, Pep and Morgan back here _now_. He’s gonna stay here with the kids.”

“What?” Harley says. “No – you can’t make me – I’m coming!”

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna stay here, where I know you’re safe.”

“And what about Peter?”

“We’ll find him!” Tony shouts, struck painfully with déja vu. “Now, as you just pointed out, there isn’t time for us to argue about this–“

_“Mrs Boss, Mr Hogan and Madame Secretary have returned,”_ FRIDAY announces. _“Mrs Boss is on her way up.”_

“Harley, go down and wait with Happy and Morgan–“

“No!” Harley cries. “You can’t make me sit out again!”

“I can and I will–“

“Do you know your way around in there?” Harley counters. “Do you know where they kept us? What about the kind of weapons they have there?”

“He has a point,” Rhodey says.

No. No. _Not Harley, too_. Tony closes his eyes, if only to avoid the kid’s beseeching gaze. “You do everything Rhodey, Pepper or I tell you in there. _Everything_ , is that understood? Even if it means clearing the hell out, even if it means taking someone’s life to save yours.”

“I understand,” Harley says, and it terrifies Tony that he believes him.

“Tony?” Pepper asks as she hurries in, before gasping, “Harley!” and sweeping him into a hug.

“Suit up,” Tony tells her. “Peter’s still in there. Harley’s gonna show us the way.”

Pepper, wonderful unflappable Pepper, just nods and calls her suit. Harley summons his spare with a guilty look at his damaged original.

“Get knocked around a bit?” Rhodey says.

“EMP,” Harley mumbles. “Maybe they messed around with it, I don’t know.”

_They_. _They’re hurting him_. Someone’s been holding his children captive for nine days. Nine days.

“Let’s go,” he says abruptly, and snaps his faceplate shut. Peter still needs him.

* * *

Harley doesn’t know what he expects when they land back in the base. Another EMP blast, maybe, or another intruder alert.

Nothing. It’s like they haven’t even noticed he’s gone.

“Huh,” Harley says when they reach his and Peter’s cells and he catches sight of the body on the floor. “He’s still there.”

“You knock him out?” Rhodey says.

“Yup.”

“Good punching.”

“He’s alive,” Tony says, and Harley _must_ be imagining the disappointment in his voice.

“Okay, Peter’s not here, so…they always took him this direction.”

“We’ll follow your lead, honey,” Pepper says with an encouraging smile.

Which sounds like a great plan, in theory, until they step out into the main corridor and are greeted by a barrage of enraged shouts and approaching footsteps.

“Split up,” Tony says, voice flat.

“But–“

“Harley, go with Rhodey!” Pepper calls. Her faceplate slams shut, but not before Harley catches sight of her dangerous scowl.

“This way, kid.”

Harley obeys without question, walking backwards down the corridor. “Got your six.”

“Nice,” Rhodey laughs. “Okay, for each room down here, I’ll watch the door and you look inside. Got it?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh.”

The first two rooms are dark and empty, but the third looks bright, with white walls and gleaming metal doors. Harley steels himself and walks in.

Inside, Peter is stretched out on an operating table, his hands and legs restrained. He flinches when Harley moves into his line of sight, before a dopey grin spreads over his face. “Oh, hey, man.”

“Are you hurt?” Harley asks, fumbling as he starts to untie Peter’s wrists.

“Oh, all over.” Peter tries a clumsy thumbs-up. “But they got me on the good shit.”

“Jesus.”

Peter gasps. “Where?”

“I’m getting you out of here, dude.” The last restraint slips free and Harley helps him sit up. “Rhodey? Rhodey!”

Rhodey strides in and joins Harley, easing Peter off the table. “Hi, kid.”

“‘M f’ne…”

“Good to know,” Rhodey says soothingly. “Gonna pick you up now, okay? It might hurt, but not for long.”

“Nah,” Peter mumbles, his eyelids slipping shut. “The drugs’re good here…”

“Are they?” Rhodey slips his arm under Peter’s knees and scoops him up, bridal style.

“I’ve been good,” Peter explains, “so…so they gave me p– pain– paink– drugs.”

Rhodey does a good job of controlling his expression. “And what if you weren’t good?”

In response, Peter curls into himself and whimpers. Harley swallows.

“All right, kid. You don’t need to worry about that now, yeah? You just tap out, and we’ll take care of everything.”

“No, no sleepin’,” Peter mutters deliriously. “They’re doin’…s’periments…”

“You can sleep,” Rhodey says.

“No…no’ ‘llowed…”

“How’s going home sound?” Harley says, fighting down the nausea that climbs up his throat.

“H’rley?”

“Right here, man.”

“H’rley.” Peter’s hand grips his wrist with sudden and surprising strength. “They took – took m’blood–“

“I know, but as soon as we get home, we–“

“No,” Peter insists, “they _took_ it. They wanna re– wanna repli– re–“

“Replicate?”

“Yeah. Yeah, wanna make more. Can’t let them…” Peter looks at him pleadingly. “Get rid of it.”

Harley looks at Rhodey. Rhodey looks right back.

“Take him.”

“What?”

“That lab needs torching, and he needs a doctor. Head for the new Compound and give Helen a heads up.”

“I can’t–“

“The suit can take the weight.” Rhodey gently lays Peter in Harley’s arms. “Fly carefully – remember, you only have the boot jets.”

“Uh-huh. Yup.”

“Get your brother home.” Rhodey turns and marches back towards the lab, the weapon on his outstretched arm switching from a rocket launcher to a flamethrower. Jesus, Tony never does anything halfway.

“Peter?” Harley doesn’t have the first clue where to start with this. He’s not Tony, not Pepper, not even Rhodey or Happy. “You feel okay to fly?”

Peter gasps, his face brimming with childlike excitement.

“Taking that as a yes. Uh, FRIDAY? Can you plot me a course for the new Compound, please?”

_“Absolutely. The journey will take approximately fifteen minutes, taking into account your limited flight capabilities.”_

“Is that…okay?”

_“Mr Parker is not in life-threatening danger,”_ she tells him kindly. _“Doctor Cho and her team will have plenty of time to prepare. Would you like a scan of Mr Parker’s injuries?”_

“No.” That feels almost like a violation, a window into the hell Peter went through. “No, just…is there anything I should be especially careful of?”

_“There are several surgical wounds on his torso and along his arms, as well as two broken fingers.”_

Oh, _Christ_. “Okay,” Harley says, and tentatively activates his jets. “Peter, is this okay? It’s not hurting?”

“Wheee,” is all he gets in response, which Harley figures is the most sense Peter will be making for a while.

“Yeah, whee.”

* * *

Tony hates to admit he flies into a blind rage when the first wave of guards arrive, but that’s exactly what he does. Every single one of them kept his kids here, held them captive. They’re going to pay.

He’s so intent on fighting that he almost doesn’t notice when Rhodey rejoins them.

“Where’s Harley?” he demands.

“We found Peter. He took him home.”

The relief from those words almost takes Tony out at the knees. “And he just went?”

“Yep. We might wanna clear out soon. I set a lotta things on fire.”

“Why?” Pepper says.

Rhodey doesn’t answer, just fires off a shot.

_“Rhodes.”_

“I had to trash the lab. They had samples of Peter’s…everything, it looked like. Had to torch it.”

Tony’s next punch is especially hard.

”Let’s just go,” Pepper says, ever the voice of reason. “Peter’s safe, Tony. Let’s get out of here.”

She’s right. Of course she’s right, but–

Something explodes down the corridor. The men they’re fighting all scatter. Panicked yells fill the air.

“Let’s go,” Pepper says again, firmer this time. “Your kids need you.”

Who’s Tony to argue with that?

* * *

Harley’s sitting on the chair outside the hospital room, his head in his hands, when he hears frantic footsteps, and barely has time to glance up before Tony, Pepper and Rhodey burst through the doors at the end of the corridor.

“How’s it looking?” Tony says urgently.

“Um, fine, I think. They don’t seem too worried, so…”

Tony nods and sweeps into the room without another word. Pepper follows, only stopping to cup Harley’s cheek with a gentle smile, and Rhodey settles himself on the chair bedside Harley.

“I’m proud of you, kid.”

Harley scoffs, not looking at Rhodey. “Why? This all happened because of me.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey agrees, “it did. Peter in there, safe, getting the help he needs? All down to you.”

“You _know_ that isn’t what I meant. I fucked up.”

“Yeah. You really did, and you’re gonna hear all about it. But then you fixed it,” Rhodey says. “You owned your mess and came up with a solution.”

“I left him there. I knew what they were doing and I _left_ him in there, Rhodey.”

“You made the right choice.” Rhodey lays a hand on his shoulder. “It was hard, but you did the right thing.”

“I barely even helped.”

“Why, ‘cause I gave you an order and you followed it? Again: right choice.” Rhodey sounds like he’s grinning. “Do you know what I was doing while Tony was having his first big fight?”

“Helping?”

A snort. “Air traffic control.”

“What?”

“‘Keep the skies clear’, that asshole says, and jets off without a second thought. But I did what I was told, because that’s what needed to be done. When Tony was fighting the Mandarin, I got the President the hell out of there. When he and Peter were missing in space, Pepper made sure the world kept on turning. Sometimes, the support act is what you have to be. You recognised that tonight, got Peter out of there so we could focus on the rest of the job, and I’m proud of you. We all are.”

“…oh,” Harley says, because that’s nearly the opposite of what he’d been expecting to hear.

“If you’re still hung up on it, I’ll speak to Tony and see if you can join in with some training sessions up here.”

“Wait, really?”

“I’ll _ask_ , I said.”

Harley nods, but doesn’t say anything before the door to Peter’s room; Cho and a nurse file out, and Tony’s head follows.

“Hey,” Rhodey says easily, “you all good in there?”

Tony smiles, and a weight that Harley hadn’t realised was sitting on his chest lifts. “Right as rain. You coming in, Keener?”

“Are you sure?” Harley says. “I mean, does he…?”

“Of course he wants to see you, you idiot.”

* * *

Harley, hunched over in the corner of Peter’s room, looks smaller than Tony’s ever seen him, even when he was eleven and swimming in an oversized hoodie.

Even though Peter’s sitting up and talking, nothing visibly wrong apart from his pale skin and a bandaged wrist peeking out from under his hoodie, Harley seems to be trying his best to make everyone forget he’s even there. He keeps staring at Peter like he’s not hearing anything being said, like he’s frightened everything will disappear if he blinks.

When Peter’s eyelids start to dip and he fights off a yawn, Pepper and Rhodey leave with a promise to come back with Morgan and Happy in the morning.

“Oh, good,” Peter says around another yawn. “Missed them.”

“And they missed you, honey.” Pepper kisses him on the forehead and glides out, but not before staring pointedly at Tony, then Harley.

Well, _duh_.

Peter gives Tony a sleepy smile and closes his eyes, humming in contentment when Tony starts massaging the top of his head.

“How you doing, Spud?” With a flash of guilt, Tony realises he’s been almost single-mindedly focused on Peter until now.

“Fine,” Harley says, short, curt, not inviting conversation.

“Hey,” Tony says gently, “I told you I’m not mad anymore, didn’t I?”

“Why not?” Harley, somehow, slumps even further in his chair. “We both could’ve died, just ‘cause I was trying to prove a point.”

“But you didn’t.” Another careful touch of Peter’s head, just to remind himself of the same thing. “You’re both fine.”

“‘Fine’ is relative right now.”

He’s not wrong. Tony is teetering on the edge of ‘fine’ himself, Helen’s mile-long list of injuries still hovering front and centre in his mind. But they’re here, alive and breathing.

“Well, right now I’ll take this relative ‘fine’ over anything else.” Tony sighs, his hand falling to Peter’s cheek. “You did well in there, Harley. Kept it cool, did what you were told, got Peter out – I’m so – Jesus, _proud_ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Harley actually looks surprised at that. God, doesn’t he know? Isn’t it obvious, the sheer _pride_ bubbling up in Tony’s chest?

“And I will consider – _consider_ – allowing you to be on standby for some missions.”

“At least this time I’ll actually be on the subs bench,” Harley mutters, but he finally gets off his damn chair and drifts closer to Peter’s bed, a slow smile starting to break across his face.

“Hm?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“God, the two of you – you’re gonna make me go prematurely gray.”

“Prematurely?” Peter repeats, opening his eyes suddenly.

Harley yelps. “You dick!”

“I knew you weren’t asleep, you shit,” Tony says with a laugh.

Peter grins up at him, and it’s the best thing Tony’s seen in more than a week. “You guys needed to talk.”

“I hate you,” Harley says, even as he plops down on the edge of Peter’s bed, “I hate you, I hate you, you’re the worst person in the world–“

“My turn on the brain cell.”

“But I’m older.”

“Four days! And time is meaningless, so…”

“So therefore I cannot go prematurely gray,” Tony interjects. “Look, as much as I love you and I missed you, there’s a time and a place to debate the construct of time, and that’s an Intro to Philosophy class.”

“But is there a time?” Peter says thoughtfully

“Is there even a place?” Harley adds.

Two fucking peas in a pod. God, Tony loves them.

“Nope. Not the time for this conversation. You’re making my head hurt.”

“Technically, there’s no time to have this conversation.”

“Come on!”

Peter laughs, the movement making his head butt into Tony’s palm.

“Hey, careful there,” Tony warns. _Surgical scars. Previously fractured ribs. Broken fingers. Bruised kidney. Malnourished. Nearly hypothermic. Drugged up to his eyeballs._

“‘M fine.”

“Fine, my ass,” Harley says.

“Fine is relative.” Peter cocks his head. “So, Avenger, huh?”

“In _training_ ,” Tony cuts in. “Lots and lots of training. Even then, you’re doing your time on the JV team.”

“Yeah, let’s pretend like we play sports and totally understood that.”

Peter snorts. Harley grins back. It hits Tony – not for the first time, but with breathtaking suddenness – that these are _his kids_.

“What are you looking at, old man?” Harley says, a smirk in his voice.

“You want the real answer? Or are you still allergic to displays of affection?”

“Very much so.” But, because he’s a contrary little shit, Harley shuffles so he’s lying down next to Peter, their shoulders touching; they both seem to relax at the touch, and Tony can’t bring himself to tell him to get up.

“All right, I’ll spare you. Let your brother get some rest, now.”

“Mm. Fine.”

Tony sits back in his chair, ready to settle in for the night – or what’s left of it – when Peter frowns.

“If time doesn’t exist, how can he be old?”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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